Corbett took a stool and sat opposite.
‘You know why I do. When I met you down at Falcon Brook, Brother, you were like a man lost in your sins. What caused it? Guilt? Remorse?’
‘We all sin,’ Brother Dunstan tried to assert himself.
‘Yes, we do but some more secretly than others. I don’t want to torture you, Brother, so I’ll come swiftly to the point. You are treasurer of this great abbey. You and the brothers send carts to buy provender and sell your produce in the markets. You travel hither and thither. How many times have you been attacked by outlaws?’
‘Such men would never attack Holy Mother Church.’ Brother Dunstan coloured at Ranulf’s bellow of laughter.
‘That’s a lie,’ Corbett replied. ‘Such men couldn’t give a fig about the Church. You do what many abbeys and monasteries, even manor lords, do. You meet these outlaws, or their leaders, and you provide them with money and supplies. In return they give assurances that you can go untroubled about your business and they’ll make sure that everybody else who lurks in the woods obeys. It’s a convenient way of living. The outlaws really don’t want to take on a powerful abbot who might ask the local sheriff to hunt them down. Moreover some, but not all, of their coven are superstitious. They don’t want to be excommunicated, cursed and exiled from heaven by bell, book and candle. You, of course, and your abbey don’t want any trouble. You are the treasurer and, when these men come looking for food and drink, you pay them off and both parties are happy. The law might not like it but, there again, on a lonely forest path the law can do little to protect some unfortunate monk on an errand for his Father Abbot. Am I correct?’
‘It is a commonplace practice,’ Brother Dunstan replied. ‘Everyone does it.’
‘Of course they do and, as long as the outlaws don’t become troublesome, greedy or break their word, Abbot Stephen would look the other way. He might not like it but. .’ Corbett waved a hand. ‘Now you, Brother Dunstan,’ he continued, ‘travel for the abbey and often visit the Lantern-in-the-Woods.’
The treasurer put his face in his hands.
‘Blanche is pretty, isn’t she? Long legs, generous lips, a sweet bosom and, if Ranulf is correct, saucy eyes and a pert mouth. You were much taken with her. Of course, she was flattered that a man of the Church should be interested. She was even more impressed when you took coins from your coffers to buy her bracelets and a silver chain with a gold cross, not to mention the rings and the cloth to make her a fine dress. Now, what began as mere dalliance,’ Corbett felt sorry for the monk who was now sobbing quietly, ‘became an obsession. Ranulf has travelled to the Lantern-in-the-Woods, and the outlaws also go there. Oh, by the way, some of them are dead — killed,’ Corbett added warningly. ‘I suggest that for the next few months any traveller from St Martin’s has an armed escort.’
Brother Dunstan took his hands away. ‘Dead?’
‘Well, at least four of them.’ Corbett turned to Ranulf and clicked his fingers. ‘Now, in one of the wallets of the dead outlaws we found this abbey seal. It’s unbroken, and is clearly specially made. You gave it to one of the outlaws? Perhaps their leader, Scaribrick? You must have bribed him. Sometimes you found it difficult to leave the abbey — after all, a monk out of his house is like a fish out of water — but you had a hunger for Blanche. You gave her the robe of a monk with a canopied cowl, and you actually brought her into the abbey, didn’t you? One of the outlaws was your go-between and when he showed the seal to Blanche, it was the sign to meet you near one of the postern gates. Now, in the warm days of spring and summer, a tumble in the long grass is perhaps safe enough but our Blanche is haughty. She would object to such rough bedding. On one or two occasions she came disguised to that postern door and made her way to your chamber. No doubt you objected, telling her how dangerous it was.’
Corbett leaned forward and prised Brother Dunstan’s fingers away from his face. The monk’s eyes were red-rimmed with crying.
‘For God’s sake,’ Corbett reassured him, ‘I am not going to denounce you before the full chapter. You won’t be the first man to break his vows. The world, the flesh and the devil, eh? It’s often the flesh which lays the most cunning traps.’
The treasurer rubbed the tears away from his cheeks.
‘It was as you say,’ Brother Dunstan declared. ‘The dalliance began two years ago. I was a clerk before I became a monk. I thought I could live a chaste life but — Blanche, she was so provocative! At night I used to dream about her hair, her lips, her breasts, her legs. At first she allowed some intimacy — a kiss or a cuddle — but she acted very much the lady. She wanted this and she wanted that. So I used money from the Abbey coffers. Sometimes we met in the cellars of her father’s tavern but that was too dangerous. Blanche is a hussy, saucy-eyed and sharp-tongued. She wanted to see my chamber and lie in a proper bed, she said. I tried to refuse but. . One night she came disguised, as you say, and told me she had met a monk on her way. From her description I recognised Gildas. I begged her not to do it again but she refused to obey and only stopped when I bought her some Castilian soap. I confessed my sins to one of the old monks. He gave me absolution but said I should also confess to Father Abbot. I did, in a half-hearted way.’
‘So, Abbot Stephen knew?’
‘Yes, yes he did. He warned me that I would have to make reparation. Replace the money I had taken and end my relationship.’
‘That was compassionate,’ Ranulf interrupted. ‘Many a Father Abbot would have shown you the gate.’
‘Abbot Stephen said that if I truly repented, I would have to do so properly. He did not wish to disgrace me.’ Brother Dunstan held Corbett’s gaze. ‘I was surprised by Abbot Stephen’s compassion. He just stared at me, tears in his eyes.’
‘Did he give a reason for his compassion?’ Corbett asked.
‘He just said we were all sinners and, if there was a God, Compassion was His name.’
‘If there was a God?’ Corbett queried.
‘That’s what he said. I don’t think he was denying the existence of God, just stating that God’s compassion was most important.’ The treasurer took a deep breath. ‘And you, Sir Hugh, will you tell Prior Cuthbert?’
‘I’ll do nothing of the sort.’ Corbett clapped him on the shoulder and got to his feet. ‘I am not your father confessor, nor am I here to judge the morals of the monks. I want to catch a murderer. Brother Dunstan, I want to ask you one question, broken into different parts. On your oath now: the Concilium, it wanted that guesthouse built?’
‘Very much so.’
‘Why?’
‘To attract pilgrims, to increase the revenue.’
‘And what other reason?’ Corbett demanded.
‘To secure a relic so as to increase our fame.’
‘And would they have murdered for that?’
Brother Dunstan did not deny it but gazed bleakly back.
QUI CUPIET METUET QUOQUE
WITH DESIRE COMES ALSO FEAR
Chapter 8
Brother Francis, the archivist, was pleased to have the library to himself. The small scriptorium at the far end was also empty. The rest of the brothers had gone to celebrate divine office before the evening meal. Brother Francis was so excited, and his stomach so agitated, that he had no time for food or drink. He hadn’t told anybody the reason but had sought permission from Prior Cuthbert to absent himself. The librarian now sat at a table and stared round his domain. This was his kingdom with its specially hooded candles and lanterns to diminish the risk of fire. He gazed lovingly at the stacked rows of shelves containing the abbey archives, as well as the manuscripts collected over the years: Augustine’s Confessions and City of God: Beothius’s On Consolation, the sermons of Ambrose, the writings of Jerome and other fathers: the theological treatises of Bernard, Aquinas and Anselm. Brother Francis got up and walked along the shelves. Here were the jewels of the collection: the works of Aristotle and Plato, the speeches of Cicero, the histories of Tacitus and the thoughts of the philosopher Seneca. These had been Abbot Stephen’s favourites, with his love of Roman culture. Brother Francis stopped, closed his eyes and sniffed. He relished the smell of the library, as a gardener did the fragrance of flowers: the perfume of vellum, of leather, ink, beeswax and the sweet-smelling polish which his assistants used on the shelves, tables and floor. Brother Francis liked nothing better than to check everything was in its appointed place. Some of the books were so rare and precious that they were locked away in heavy coffers. He touched the ring of keys on his belt and recalled why he was here. His face flushed. Brother Francis had thought long and hard about these deaths, these heinous murders, which hadn’t just started because of a guesthouse or Prior Cuthbert’s desire to acquire a precious relic.